Cressyda
She kept telling herself that this was her home; this harsh, undulating landscape was etched into her bloodline, carved into the marrow of her bones by the generations of Mountain folk that had come before her.
She wanted to feel some kind of affinity with the land, some kind of connection.
She wanted the old fears and anxieties that had plagued her childhood to melt away, replaced by a deep sense of belonging.
But that was not how she felt. The mountains were beautiful and majestic, but that was all.
They did not rise to meet her with recognition or warmth, they were simply vast and impassive, existing on a scale too grand to notice the small ache inside one solitary woman.
‘You should be back at the cottage, resting,’ she chided.
Alinore shrugged, wobbling to a halt. ‘I wanted to see if you were all right.’
‘Yes. Apparently everything is still confused in the village after the night, but I think he should be able to get some mountain ponies to take us back to Tormale.’
Cressyda’s stomach lurched at the thought of returning to the capital – returning to Syonno Castle and the Calestran court.
She could easily imagine the turmoil that would have descended on Tormale last night at the sight of the Great Dragon soaring over its rooftops.
The city would have been flooded with terrified screams and frantic footfalls as citizens scattered through the winding streets, seeking shelter in doorways and cellars, clutching children to their chests.
Guards would have scrambled to form ranks, bows trembling in their hands, knowing full well that their arrows were useless against something so ancient, so vast. Though the Great Dragon had caused no damage last night, Tormale would still be in uproar, and amid it all, Cressyda would return.
The only Maiden Sacrifice to have ever returned in three hundred winters.
‘We should get back as soon as we can,’ she said. ‘If the court has heard of Samsel’s death, it’ll be chaos. We need to restore order.’
Alinore nodded. ‘What do you think everyone will say?’
‘I think …’ Cressyda had been wondering exactly that herself.
‘I think we need to seize this opportunity to take control,’ she replied.
She had said this to her brother earlier, that despite their exhaustion and injuries, they needed to act quickly and secure their position before anyone else tried to take it.
‘You are very wise. You always have been,’ said Alinore, her warm breath brushing Cressyda’s cheek. ‘We’re lucky to have you. The whole of Calestra’s lucky to have you. You’ve saved us all – Dragonslayer.’
Beneath her fear and worry about the future, Cressyda recognized that this was true. She felt a small glow of pride, warm and unexpected. It did not erase her doubts, and it did not silence the endless whir of anxious thoughts that clouded her mind, but it was there.
‘You too,’ she replied, gently prodding her friend’s side.
Alinore grinned. ‘What do you think Lady Vienlia will say?’ She turned down the corners of her mouth and impersonated the high, wobbling voice of the Chief Lady-in-Waiting. ‘How very unladylike.’
Cressyda chuckled, but her laughter faded to nothing when she remembered the conversation she had overheard between Lady Vienlia and Lady Frankis just yesterday morning, their harsh words and enjoyment at her downfall.
‘Going back won’t be easy,’ she said. ‘I doubt everyone will welcome my return.’
Alinore snorted. ‘But you faced the Great Dragon! A few Calestran courtiers can’t scare you. Besides, Prince – no, King Ottone has ascended the throne now. He’ll rightfully reinstate you as the Princess.’
Cressyda hesitated, her thoughts drifting back to the fear that had flashed across her brother’s face earlier when he had realized the same terrible truth.
Ottone had never wanted to be the firstborn heir; he had never craved the weight of duty.
He had always been more comfortable in the background, where he could think quietly, speak when necessary, and let Samsel bear the crown’s expectations.
But with Samsel gone, the burden had shifted abruptly, landing on Ottone’s shoulders with a force that had left him visibly shaken.
‘Promise me you’ll help me, Cress?’ he had pleaded, his voice cracking beneath the surface of his usual calm. ‘You must be my trusted advisor. We can rule together. Or something like that. I can’t do it alone.’
The memory of his plea echoed in her mind now, more serious than she had allowed herself to admit in the moment.
She had laughed light-heartedly then, masking her own uncertainty, and told him of course she would help – she would always help.
But Ottone’s words had taken root inside her, and since then, she had been picking over them.
Perhaps it was not an absurd proposition.
Perhaps this could be a new kind of reign for the Kingdom of Calestra, one built on trust, on partnership, on shared strength.
It felt like a chance to step forward, not just for Ottone, but for herself.
Maybe this was the start of something new.
‘I want us to ride through Tormale like this,’ she said, gesturing at their dirty, torn clothes and bruised, bandaged battle wounds. ‘I want us to parade through the gates of Syonno Castle and straight into the throne room. I want them all to see what they did to us and how we survived it.’
Alinore grinned. ‘We’ll look like warriors,’ she said. ‘Like heroes.’
‘Yes.’
After a pause, Alinore asked carefully, ‘And what about the Queen?’
Cressyda tried to swallow the rising burn of fear in her throat.
For all his cruelty, for all the damage he had done, Samsel was still Queen Flavria’s eldest son and she had loved him with a fierce, blinding devotion.
The news of his death would devastate her, and what she would make of Cressyda’s role in it all was unknown.
‘Before I left, the Queen had taken to her room with a sickness,’ said Cressyda slowly. ‘We must secure Ottone on the throne and our own places at court while she’s indisposed, and then … face her later.’
The thought of confronting Queen Flavria brought a stinging ache to Cressyda’s chest that was more painful than her cuts and bruises.
The Queen had once been a figure of warmth – distant, but not unkind.
Whatever love had existed between them in the past had thinned over the winters, strained by the Queen’s relentless expectations and Samsel’s ever-growing shadow.
Even so, some part of Cressyda had always clung to the idea of Queen Flavria as a mother, but she knew now that she did not need to accept scraps of affection and conditional love. She deserved better.
Out loud, she said, ‘No one will ever call me the Pet again.’
Alinore took her hand and squeezed her fingers.
Below them, a figure emerged from the clutter of stone cottages. It was tall and broad, walking out of the village and up the mountainside, leading three stocky ponies.
‘Here is our new King,’ said Alinore, her voice soft with affection. Then she cleared her throat and added, ‘We should bid farewell to Maylie before we go. I would’ve bled out on a mountainside if it weren’t for her …’
Cressyda saw an unspoken question waver in Alinore’s eyes. Her friend knew that Maylie was not just a conscientious citizen, not merely a kind stranger. Or she certainly suspected something.
Cressyda wanted to explain the impossible truth that had unravelled over the last day, to lay bare the snarl of emotions still churning within her, but the words would not come.
Everything still felt too raw and tangled.
She did not know how to explain what it felt like to stand face to face with the woman who had given her life and then vanished from it.
She did not know how to put into words the gut-wrenching confusion of being held and comforted by the same person she had spent winters trying to forget.
But she owed Alinore more than silence.
Cressyda made a vow to herself then, as they stood in that uncertain stillness.
She would tell Alinore everything – about Maylie, about the reunion, about what it had awakened in her – on their journey back to the city.
Not because her friend demanded it, but because she deserved the truth.
Maybe in speaking it aloud, Cressyda would finally begin to understand it herself too.
And – though the thought felt fragile and tentative – perhaps, in time, she and Alinore could come back to these mountains together.
Return with steadier hearts and clearer minds when things were settled.
And then Maylie could tell the whole of her story from the beginning, as she had claimed she wanted to, laying the past out in full, while Cressyda tried to listen without judgement. Maybe.
Cressyda reached for Alinore’s hand again, grounding herself in the familiar warmth of her friend’s presence. ‘We must be on our way soon,’ she said. ‘If we ride fast, we’ll reach the city by early afternoon.’
Alinore smiled. ‘Back to Tormale. Back to Syonno Castle.’
Cressyda looked out towards the horizon, where the sky had turned clear and bright with the promise of the day ahead. A thousand uncertainties waited for them in the city, but so did purpose and, perhaps, healing.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Back to our home.’